More of Stars and Sea
by Isolde Jansma
Summary: Pr0n. A Meyla interlude, which I hope will meet with approval.


**More of Stars and Sea** ~ Stargate Atlantis: Michael Kenmore/Teyla Emmagan: exile, rush, penance, air, rope, different, flexible, marks, signs

Written for Porn Battle XIII, this is a departure from my usual ship, as it's high time I took up a challenge.

The usual disclaimer, no money, blah, blah.

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><p>"Exile does not seem to have made a difference to you," Teyla said, and clenched her fingers around the rope. Each knot seemed secure, and satisfied, she leaned against the table. "You make no penance for the atrocities you have wrought."<p>

"No more than you."

"We did what we had to survive."

"No more than you."

Teyla weighed his words, and the bitter truth of them. Blood on his hands, blood on hers. Rivers and oceans of blood, Wraith and human. "It should be different – the world."

"But it is not." Michael strained against the ropes, a futile gesture, and his yellow eyes met hers. Heat scorched a path down her spine, and she caught her breath, her stomach surged again, a queasy flip-flop. "There is no penance for what we have done."

Lifting her chin, she said, "You had a choice -"

"I had none!" he raged, spittle flecking his lips. "Hated by you, loathed by my own kind – where could I go, Teyla? Where? Answer me that?"

"You tried to kill my child, you murdered my people," she spat, and stepped forward, a slap ringing out in the still air of the room. Across his cheek, the mark from her fingers was livid, and they burned from the touch of his skin. Treacherous. Poisonous. His morality always flexible.

Spinning away, she stalked the room, wished she could be rid of him, Michael, the monster they created. The monster children screamed about in nightmares. Her coat slapped against her legs as she moved. He laughed, and she froze, turned back to face him.

"How dare you."

"And yet, I reached, and you came."

How could she deny what he said, when she was here, unbidden save for the bond that resisted all effort to rend it asunder. That whispered to her endless longing, and the deep shame she could betray her people so… easily. At war, Teyla choked back a sob. This should not be. This foul thing should. Not. Be.

"The signs were always there," he murmured, and the tone of his voice was soft, caressed her as she stiffened her shoulders. It wrapped round her like honey, sweet, offered to sooth the pain in her heart. "That we were meant for each other. The boy should have been mine, Teyla."

She shook her head, rejecting the claim. "Never."

"Then kill me and be done," he said, and rested back against his bonds into the chair, resigned. "For I grow weary of this game."

Again, Teyla reached his side and grabbed his hair, hauled his head back, her dagger in her hand. Meeting his eyes, she groaned, and the blade slipped from her boneless fingers, clattered to the floor. "I cannot," she whispered, as tears rose and fell, crystal drops to his cheek. "I should hate you."

"And I you."

At first it seemed so wrong, so utterly wrong, that Teyla could scarce believe she kissed him. His mouth was firm, eager to receive the adoration of her tongue, his breath tasted of herbs, and she drank it, greedy for him. Hungry, she nipped at his lips, forced his head back and released him, breathless. Her mouth whispered along the line of his jaw.

"Let me go." It was a sigh, faint susurration of air against the jut of her chin. "You would not have come just to capture me, Teyla."

Her head drooped, and tears welled again, lips moving against skin. "If I free you, then the whole galaxy will be at your mercy."

"As I am at yours, Teyla."

Startled at the thick tone, she looked up; saw the wet glitter in his eyes, grief written there. "And if I do…?"

"Then we will have this moment."

There was no subterfuge in his voice, no lie in his face, and Teyla caught at the strands of his mind, his true name wrapped into her being. Fumbling, she picked at the knots, tore her nails in the nylon, and stretched for the dagger at last. Cold steel, precision in justice, it rested in her hand. The answer to everything. Cut his throat, and there was an end to it. The point pricked the skin under his throat before she realised what she had done, and his hand was on her wrist, twisting it away.

"Too late," he murmured, eyes locked on hers.

Teyla couldn't help the whimper that crept from her throat as he bent her wrist back, stretching tendons, as he forced her to kneel. And free of his binding, he came to his knees before her, placed her hand on his chest, and spread her fingers. Pooled molten lead in her belly, sparks of electric fired along every nerve, and she clutched at his coat as he encouraged her fumbling attempts to undo the clasps.

"You are my queen," he said, and his free hand reached for her waist, smoothed along the line of her hip, fingertips pressing against the naked flesh there. Serious, his gaze roved her features, moved over them as though he would imprint them to his mind, there for all time. Never forgotten. Never lost. "Forever."

Teyla could not find the breath to speak, and she brought her hand to his face. Traced its lines, the firmness of his mouth, and he caught her fingers, worried at them. "So… wrong…"

Busy hands pulled apart her pants, slid them past her hips, and he pressed her down to the dusty floor, as his fingers slipped inside her quim. "No -" he said, the moon eclipsing the sun – "well past the time, beloved." And kissed her.

The kiss ensnared her soul, as she always knew it would, and the building sensations of need crashed through her again. If he was poison, a disease, then the infection could never be healed. Melting into him, her hands slid down his chest, could feel the labour of his heart as it beat a rapid tattoo, and crested his waistband. Fingers travelled, freed him from the confines of leather, the hot length of his shaft in her palm at last. His hips pushed against the resistance of her hand, to lie against her sex.

Fire, lava boiled her veins, saturated her as the head of his cock pushed into her passage. A sob, a moan left their throats, counterpoint to the silence of the room, to the stillness of the moment. The sound of her soft leather shirt ripping barely registered.

"Michael…" she sighed, and slipped her hand to his back, feeling the muscles under her hand contract as he began the slow, certain stroke to sheath himself. Rocking her hips up, Teyla gasped as he filled her, each muscle quivering.

A searing kiss, his tongue wrapped about hers, the feel of him coming away, to return, heal the loss, massaging the deep ache that so longed for release. Lost, the universe began and ended with each thrust, as he rammed himself to the hilt in her slick, hot passage. A building crescendo, sweat built between her breasts, and tearing away from his kiss, she arched, as he rolled to bring her above. Teyla threw back her head, and his hands reached up her frame, grasped her breasts and came up to suckle them hard, his cock buried deep in her cunt.

She rode him with the fierceness of desperation, and he met her every movement, hard, fast, leaning back on his arms, and she revelled in the cruelty of his face, the gleam of predator eyes. Like a volcano, her climax exploded, blissful waves that gripped and released, milking him of his seed as he roared out in triumph. She did not recognise the howl that erupted from her own throat.

Breathless, she rested her head on his shoulder, face wet, and took the sweet kiss placed on her lips. "What now?"

Strong arms tightened about her, and he pushed against her again, hardening as he whispered, "We have these moments."


End file.
